Category Archives: Cavendish Margaret

In gardens sweet each flower mark did I, How they did spring, bud, blow, wither and die. With that, contemplating of man’s short stay, Saw man like to those flowers pass away. Yet built he houses, thick and strong and … Continue reading →

I language want to dress my fancies in, The hair’s uncurled, the garment’s loose and thin. Had they but silver lace to make them gay, They’d be more courted than in poor array; Or, had they art, would make a … Continue reading →

Her hair was curls of Pleasure and Delight, Which on her brow did cast a glistening light. As lace her bashful eyelids downward hung: A modest countenance o’er her face was flung: Blushes, as coral beads, she strung to wear … Continue reading →